


Grace on my Mind

by placentalmammal



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon, Snarky Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sisters take care of one another; daughters take care of mothers. Hawke family fluff set in the skipped year between arriving in Kirkwall and meeting Varric at the beginning of Act I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace on my Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katz92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katz92/gifts).



Winter settled on Kirkwall like a buzzard on a corpse. In Hightown, the cobblestone streets were glazed with ice and slush, forcing the city’s gentry to retire their fashionable, Orlesian-style carriages in favor of litters borne by servants. Down in Lowtown, the autumn rains had saturated the unpaved roads while horses and carts and feet churned the dirt into mud. As the year drained away, the temperature dropped, and the mud set like plaster.The Lowtown streets were pockmarked and rutted, dotted with potholes and craters that filled with icy water.

There was no one with wealth or influence in the slums, no one of substance to complain when the city muck sullied their pattens. For three months out of the year, the streets were jagged streets of filthy ice, treacherous as dragon’s teeth. The potholes were a trap for the unwary and inexperienced: misplace a foot and find yourself ankle-deep in frigid water, shoes and stockings soaked through in an instant.

Hawke was neither unwary nor inexperienced, but she seldom passed through Lowtown at anything less than a run. Laughing madly, she vaulted over a stack of crates, then dodged left, ducking a passel of slow-moving dwarven merchants. Bethany followed, twenty feet back, struggling to keep up. “Hawke, wait!” she called, stumbling over the uneven terrain. “Slow down!”

“Keep up, Beth!” Hawke shouted, she took a sharp left, disappearing from view down a side street. Bethany didn’t _see_ her sister catch her ankle in a pothole, but she _heard_ an almighty crash, like someone in full plate taking a hard fall. When she rounded the corner, breathless from exertion, her elder sister was sprawled in a pile of rotten vegetables, clutching her ankle and cursing loudly.

Bethany went to her knees beside her sister, pushing her dark, curly hair out of her eyes. “Now look what you’ve done,” she scolded, rolling Hawke’s pant leg back to expose her ankle. “That’s a sprain, or I’m an Orlesian.”

“Can’t have that,” Hawke said. She was still grinning, but her ever-present smirk had taken on a rigid quality. Despite the chill and the icy mud splattered all up her front, there was a sheen of sweat on Hawke’s forehead, and her eyes had gone slightly glassy. “Mother _hates_ Orlesians.”

“Hush,” said Bethany, glancing over her shoulder. She took a deep breath and her fingertips began to glow purple, casting strange shadows on her brown face. “I think I can set it.”

“Bethany, no,” said Hawke, an edge of panic in her voice. “If someone saw--”

Ignoring Hawke’s protests, Bethany set her hands on her sister’s ankle. The purple light gathered and grew, blossoming into a sphere of lilac-colored light that sank into Hawke’s swollen joint and dissipated through her bloodstream, temporarily illuminating her from within. When the light faded, the swelling had gone down and the bruises had faded.

“There,” said Bethany, smiling faintly. “I don’t think I fixed it entirely, but that should be good enough to get home.” She slipped an arm around her sister’s broad shoulders and hauled her to her feet, staggering slightly under her weight. She steered Hawke down the alley, away from the bustle of the busy main streets, towards Uncle Gamlen’s house in the square adjacent to the Alienage.

“You shouldn’t use your magic in public,” Hawke hissed, her voice low so as to not be overheard. “It’s too risky, even with Aveline’s connections in the guards.”

“I wouldn’t need to take risks,” Bethany said stubbornly, “if you didn’t insist on injuring yourself every time we leave the house!”

“Don’t scold,” said Hawke. She glanced over her shoulder, noticed they’d attracted a few followers. Children mostly, with hollow cheeks, quick eyes, and quicker hands. “We need to hurry. We’re making ourselves a target for pickpockets. Let’s get home before some fresh disaster befalls us.”

They reached Gamlen’s house without further incident. They found Leandra sitting by the window, working on her mending where there was enough light to thread a needle. The house was dark, especially in the lean winter months when all their spare money went towards coal for the stove. Lamp oil was expensive to squander during the dim afternoon. Bethany had offered to use her magic to illuminate the house, but with Templars patrolling the streets, it was too great a risk.

“Goodness, you look dreadful!” Leandra set her mending aside and stood to examine her firstborn. “What happened?”

“I tripped,” said Hawke.

“Clumsy,” Leandra scolded. “You _must_ be more careful. What if you’d hurt yourself? What if you’d sprained it? You _know_ we can’t afford a healer right now.”

“No,” Hawke said seriously, the corners of her mouth twitching. Behind Leandra’s back, Bethany stifled laughter, fist pressed to her mouth. “You’re right, mother. I can’t go around hurting myself.”

“Where’s Gamlen?” Bethany asked brightly, changing the subject with the grace and subtlety of a high dragon attack. “We didn’t see him at the market today.”

“He’s out,” said Leandra. Bethany mouthed _Blooming Rose_ at Hawke over their mother’s shoulder; Hawke bit her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “Here,” Leandra fussed, ignorant of her daughters’ exchange. “Get those filthy things off. Put some clean, dry clothes on, you’ll feel better.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Hawke said, stooping to kiss Leandra on the cheek. “I’ll try to be more careful, next time.” She disappeared into their small, shared bedroom and reemerged a few minutes later in a clean trousers and a much-mended tunic. Bethany and Leandra sat at the freshly-scrubbed kitchen table, sleeves rolled to their arms, shelling cowpeas. Hawke took the unoccupied seat at the end of the table and joined it.

“How was your day, darlings?” Leandra asked. She worked efficiently, but in recent years, she’d begun having problems with her joints. Some mornings, her fingers were so stiff and swollen that she couldn’t unbend them without pain. It got bad in the winter, worse when there wasn’t enough coal to keep the house warm. Bethany did what she could, but there was little to be done for pain borne of age rather than injury.

“Good,” said Hawke, brightly. “I spoke to one of the foremen at the docks, he said he might have an opening unloading barges. Not glamorous, but it’s steady and his wages are fair.” _And it’s better than breaking my back for Meeran_ , she thought.

“That’s good,” Leandra said, easing a pod open and dropping the white-and-black beans into a pretty glazed bowl. “Bethany?”

“Corff’s looking for a new waitress,” she said placidly, eyes on her hands as she split another pod open. “I’d get tips, but I don’t really _want_ to work in the Hanged Man.”

“Absolutely not,” said Leandra at the same time Hawke said “Beth, you didn’t say _that’s_ where you were headed.”

Leandra turned her head and fixed Hawke with a withering glare. “You let your sister go to the Hanged Man _alone_?”

Hawke blanched and Bethany leapt to her defense. “I don’t need to be protected, Mother,” she said sharply. “I’m grown. I can work, same as Hawke.”

“But in a tavern?” Leandra said. “As a _wench?_ ”

“She hasn’t signed on yet,” Hawke cut in, “And Corff told us that one of the Dwarven Merchants is looking for hires for a Deep Roads expedition. Isn’t that right, Beth?”

Bethany nodded; Leandra looked troubled. “I don’t know,” she said, brow furrowed. “That sounds dangerous.”

“But think of the profits!” said Hawke, reaching excitedly for another pea pod. “Two months investment, and we could get a paycheck large enough to get out of Gamlen’s house.”

“Besides,” said Bethany, grinning. “It couldn’t be more dangerous than walking down the streets, right sister?” Hawke kicked her under the table and Bethany dropped a handful of beans. “Ow!”

“That’s enough,” Leandra said tiredly. “I’m not convinced, but I suppose anything’s better than the Hanged Man. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well, I don’t think we’re beggars just _yet_ ,” said Hawke. “Smile, mother! I am almost definitely gainfully employed. Isn’t that worth celebrating?”

“It is,” said Leandra thoughtfully. “I think there’s a bit of suet left over, we should fry some bread for dinner to celebrate.”

“Yes, let’s!” said Bethany. Hawke nodded in eager agreement. Without money enough for coal and lamp oil, most of their meals were plain and serviceable rather than exciting or delicious. They could scarcely afford even the smallest luxuries, but a potential new job _was_ an occasion worth celebrating. And a life devoid of small celebrations was hardly a life worth living.

“Yes,” said Leandra, making up her mind. “We can fry up the last of the bread. I think we have a few potatoes, and an onion, too. And a little bit of salt and pepper.” She shelled the last of the peas and dropped the final pod into a bowl, then stood. Leandra crossed to the stove and her daughters followed, stoking the fire and reaching the heavy, cast-iron pots down from their hooks. A few minutes later, and the small house was full of the smells of hot fat and frying onions, pungent and mouth-watering after a long day outside in the cold, searching for employment. It had been a long time since they’d treated themselves, longer since they’d had good, hot Ferelden food.

Leandra set a wedge of bread on each plate, and added a portion of fried onions and potatoes. They had sauerkraut and corned beef left over from earlier in the week, which transformed the starches into a real meal. They dumped the peas in a pan of water and set it on the hot stove to cook overnight, then dug into the hot food, eating in companionable silence as the room darkened around them.

Contented and with full bellies, Bethany and Hawke cleared the dishes away and set them in a basin to soak. They joined Leandra on the settee by the window, taking up the mending to spare their mother’s arthritic hands. They chatted for a few hours, reminiscing about Ferelden and planning for their futures. Steady jobs, build up their savings, move out of Gamlen’s Lowtown tenement and into a house of their own. Someday.

Outside, the chantry bells sounded ten. Yawning broadly, Leandra made her excuses and went off to bed, leaving Hawke and Bethany alone in the dim front room. “Hey,” Hawke said softly. “Thank you. For healing me, earlier. You didn’t have to.”

Bethany shrugged, one-shouldered. “Better than leaving you in an alley.”

“No,” said Hawke. “I was careless; you would have been within your rights to just let me suffer.”

“If you can’t walk, you can’t work,” said Bethany. “And anyway, you’re my sister. I’d risk anything to help you out.”

“Hey,” Hawke said, nudging Bethany with her injured ankle. “Stop with the ‘protective sister’ routine, that’s my job.”

“And you’re not doing a very good job,” Bethany teased. “Letting me go off to the Hanged Man alone to become a serving wench. What would the neighbors say?”

“I think they’d say that you’re a grown woman, just like me,” said Hawke. “Ready to work, and become a self-sustaining young woman.”

“There you go, using my words against me, again,” Bethany sighed. “You should have become a lawyer.”

“Maker forfend,” Hawke joked, clutching at her heart. “The only thing mother hates more than Orlesians are lawyers.” Mindful of Leandra sleeping in the next room, Bethany buried her face in her hands to stifle her laughter. Hawke grinned, glad to hear her sister’s laughter, like breaking sunlight on a cloudy day. It had been a long winter, and they’d had precious little to laugh at. Things were looking up, with multiple job offers on the horizon. By the docks or the Deep Roads, they could be out of Lowtown in a year or less.

Maker willing.


End file.
